


Happily Ever After Isn't For Guys Like Us

by hurinhouse



Category: White Collar
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 07:05:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3478877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hurinhouse/pseuds/hurinhouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The  aftermath of injury reveals to Neal a dream he'd never  dared believe in</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happily Ever After Isn't For Guys Like Us

**Author's Note:**

> for Elrhiarhodan's [Promptfest IX](http://elrhiarhodan.livejournal.com/516179.html#comments) for the prompt: dedication

The cloth swabs down his chest slowly, funneling more heat into his skin. Across his stomach, his hip, she bathes his entire surface inch by inch. It's the luxury bamboo cloth she bought last month. She'd claimed it was worth the price. She was right.

 

He twirls a finger in the water, batting it with a soft plop just to prove he can. He's still too weak to lift his arms but he can make ripples. Progress.

 

Elizabeth's voice vibrates against his back when she asks for more water, the top of her breasts rubbing against his shoulder blades every time she moves. Her legs cradle his body, a cocoon of safety. Peter's feet pad over from the sink to turn on the faucet and more heat rushes into the tub. Neal can't remember a time he's been so relaxed. Apparently Necessity had two children, Accommodation being Neal's hero this go-round.

 

He lets his head fall back on El's shoulder as she requests, a relief from holding it up so long. The ceiling needs something. He should do a copy of the Sistine Chapel up there. No, that'd be too religious for Peter; he can't separate art from theology like Neal and Elizabeth can. Maybe a pornographic fresco from ancient Pompeii? He'll brainstorm it when he has more cells available.

 

This entire half hour has been a slice of heaven, not only because he couldn't bathe in the hospital. But this is the part he's been looking forward to most. Peter runs the spray just above his head, praising El for keeping the tub during the remodel, instructing Neal to keep his eyes closed. A cascade of hot water rushes over his head, from his forehead back, Peter brushing his hand softly through Neal's hair, running a doting thumb across Neal's cheek.

 

The sprayer is placed on the edge of the tub. In his peripheral, Neal sees Elizabeth tilting the contents of a bottle into Peter's waiting hand. He can hear Peter rub his palms together before he massages the shampoo into Neal's hair. First a light caress, then more firm - a soft kneading. Neal hums in quiet delight for long blissful minutes. Peter's so good at this. 

 

Peter's hands leave and Neal shivers at the loss. Elizabeth quickly runs the hot washcloth over his chest, nuzzling his ear. She flushes the suds from Peter's hands before he resumes his task, rinsing the shampoo from Neal's hair, bubbles sluicing over Neal's shoulders, and El's. Neal starts to nod off again, easy to do lately.

 

The process repeats with conditioner - El had to remind Peter since he doesn't use it, but he's happy to comply. Neal knows they were scared out of their minds, knows they'd do anything for him. He can't get over how lucky he is, not just while he's injured, but every day.

 

Rinse is done. Neal's so sleepy he doesn't register they'd wanted him to try leaning up, so El gently guides him. Peter kisses the top of his head while he lifts him from the tub, El wrapping a soft towel around Neal's shoulders, then another around his waist. They both rub him down carefully, Peter finger-brushing his hair. 

 

Peter lays him in the center of the bed, pulling a light blanket over him. The bulk of the comforter is too much for his battered body so they have heaters set up in the bedroom. They'd gotten him a new pillow, extra soft; his weary head sinks gratefully. Sounds of the tub draining, the towels dropping into the hamper drift through the second floor and lull Neal into sleep. 

 

Sometime later he feels the bed dip on both sides, each of them curling up against him, proclaiming their love with a kiss to his cheek, a caress down his side. He'd seen this devotion, this adoration, between Peter and Elizabeth before, felt it rolling off of them for years. It had always seemed foreign, something that didn't happen to orphans from St. Louis or Detroit or anywhere without picket fences or the PTA. 

 

_"Neal, happily ever after isn't for guys like us."_

 

It is this time. It is.


End file.
